When Sean ran through the front door after his first day of kindergarten, he said, “I’m never leaving you, Mommy. I’m staying with you forever.”
“But what will you do when you marry a beautiful girl?”
“Live here,” he said.
“But she’ll need you to help take care of your house and she’ll want you to live there because she loves you.”
“But I’ll love you,” he said. “Always, always, always.”
I kept my great-grandfather’s pocket watch on display in our bedroom. It hung from a hook on the tarnished brass holder he had given my grandfather when he passed it down to him. When I wasn’t looking, Sean would open the drawers of the dresser and climb up to the watch, slipping it into his pocket. “This watch is very special to Mommy,” I’d say, taking it out of his hands. “We need to take good care of it.”
He’d nod and pretend to listen but days later I’d find him in his room playing with the watch.
“You can have this when you’re older,” I’d say. “My great-grandmother gave it to my great-grandfather one year when they were very young. Then he gave it to my grandfather when he grew up, and he gave it to your grandmother, and Grandma gave it to me. So you’re the next one who’s going to get to take care of it.” That story never appealed to Sean’s young mind so I finally moved the watch to the den and set it high on the bookshelf far from his reach.
When Sean was older we always opened our home to his friends because we’d much rather have them in our home rather than send Sean to a home where we didn’t know anything about the parents. Like all teenagers, he and his friends could be rambunctious. They were wrestling in the den one afternoon when Sean was slammed into the bookshelf. My great-grandfather’s pocket watch crashed to the floor and Sean’s knee fell on top of it, crushing it beyond repair. I was distraught over his carelessness and lack of respect.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll buy you another one,” he said.
“Don’t be flippant, Sean,” I said in front of his friends. “You can’t replace a family heirloom and the memories attached to it.” I picked up the broken pieces of the watch and looked over my shoulder. “Your friends need to go home right now and don’t plan to do anything with them for the next month.”
Looking back, I know I was too harsh on him but at the time I was sad over the loss yet also angry and my emotions got in the way. I kept the shattered watch in a box for the longest time hoping an expert watch repairman would be able to help, but as I’d suspected, the watch was ruined. I eventually threw everything away and Sean repeated again that he would replace it someday. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, kissing him months later. “It’s just a thing.”
For his senior prom, Mark and I took pictures of Sean and his date in our backyard. He looked so handsome in his black tux and she was adorable in a foam green shimmering dress. We walked them to the car and watched as Sean let her in the passenger side. He walked by us and leaned in to me. “Always,” he whispered, making me cry.
Those days seemed so far away now. It was then, when we were young and everything was new that we were all happy. But life gets in the way, circumstances change, and despite our hope that it will never happen to us, happiness fades.
I washed the last pan and rinsed it, setting it in the dish drainer for my mother to dry. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. I better head home.”
Mom took the pan and dried it, placing it inside the cabinet beneath the stove. “Have you and Mark heard about the live Nativity they’re doing out at Longworth Farm? They’ve got food and caroling and they’re even giving sleigh rides.”
“I think I read about that in the paper,” I said, putting on my coat.
“Les and I are going to go one night. Why don’t the two of you come with us?”
“I might be able to go but I’m not sure if Mark’s going to be around.”
She wrung the dish towel between her hands. “It’d be nice if both of you could go,” Dad said.
I was quiet. I didn’t want to get into this conversation with them again. I moved toward my purse.
“Patti, there are so many counselors who could help,” Mom said.
I held up my hand. “We’ve tried counselors, Mom. No, they can’t help.” I moved toward the door and opened it.
“Patti, Mark loves you and I know you love him. Please don’t let this happen. Please do everything you can before you—”
I cut her off. “I have done everything I can, Mom,” I said, defeated. “We’ve both done everything we can.”